


Applied Behavioral Modification

by argyle4eva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-24
Updated: 2010-08-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:56:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argyle4eva/pseuds/argyle4eva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the LJ Sherlock kinkmeme to the <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/575.html?thread=639039#t639039">prompt</a> "Sherlock is very loud during sex. John is torn between being extremely turned on and extremely embarrassed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Applied Behavioral Modification

**Author's Note:**

> It's worth remembering that Sherlock Holmes, in all his incarnations, is a bit of a smartass. While I love angst as much as the next person, I think it's worth exploring the silly side of things now and then and this prompt provided the perfect opportunity.

If he was being honest with himself, John had to admit that he'd always found Sherlock's voice a major turn-on. Even before they'd gone from being flatmates and "colleagues" to whatever the hell they were now, John had harbored secret little fantasies about that rich baritone during intimate moments. He would imagine it rumbling, purring, whispering, and growling wonderful, obscene things in his ear -- usually right before he came while wanking silently in his lonely little bedroom, which had left him feeling vaguely embarrassed.

As it turned out, his fantasies were partly correct. Sherlock did have an amazing voice, and he did employ it liberally during sex, but not in a whisper.

"Oh, _yes_," Sherlock thundered out in response to John's thrusting. "Hole in _one_!"

"For God's _sake_, Sherlock!"

"Don't stop! Why'd you stop?" Sherlock blinked up at John.

"You're getting too loud!"

"You're shouting, too," Sherlock said in his most reasonable tone of voice, his composure completely unruffled for all that he was flat on his back with his feet in the air and his knees hooked over John's shoulders. "I thought it was considered polite to give one's partner feedback during coitus."

John gritted his teeth. "Feedback, yes, but you don't have to let all of central London know when I hit your prostate. Especially not in those terms."

"If you're worried about Mrs. Hudson, she informed me yesterday that she recently purchased earplugs and we needn't worry about keeping her awake at night."

"Oh, God," John groaned, closing his eyes in complete mortification.

"For what it's worth, she was smiling. She seems to think we're 'cute.'"

"Look, will you at least try to restrain yourself?"

"I thought the whole point was to let go," Sherlock said, starting to smile. There was a particular gleam of mischief in his eyes that set alarm bells ringing in John's head. "Oh, all right," Sherlock continued, capitulating without the slightest hint of contrition. "Is it sports metaphors in general you object to, or golf in particular?"

"All of them!"

"Pity, I've got some good ones involving cricket," Sherlock said, but before John could say anything in response, Sherlock arched his back and contracted internal muscles in a way that wiped everything clean out of John's head. His hands tightened on Sherlock's thighs and his hips thrust forward of their own accord.

"Fuck!" John hissed between his teeth as the two of them began to move with that wonderful, effortless synchronization they shared in so many ways.

"Yes, John! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!" Sherlock cried out gleefully at the top of his lungs, grinning like the maniac he was. Given the way he was bouncing in time to John's thrusts, his breath control was nothing short of amazing, but John was in no mood to appreciate it.

"_Sherlock!_"

"Give it to me, you magnificent stallion!" Sherlock roared, half laughing, as he reached down and began working his own cock with one hand.

"Shut up!" With growing horror, John realized it was only going to get worse; his only hope was to finish things as quickly as possible. He shifted the angle of his hips and was rewarded with a surprised -- and blessedly wordless -- cry from Sherlock. Desperately, hoping to keep the advantage, John reached down and shoved Sherlock's hand out of the way, taking complete control.

"God!" Sherlock cried out. That was encouraging; he usually only found religion when he was close to coming. John kept going, relentless. His own orgasm built rapidly, encouraged by the very real pleasure of having wiped that smug amusement off of Sherlock's face. The noises the other man was making now were anything but ironic, and while they were still at window-rattling volume at least they were inarticulate.

Finally, Sherlock managed one last word. "_John!_" The tone was strangled, that gorgeous baritone breaking apart along with its owner, and for once, as it sent him over the edge, John didn't care what percentage of London's population heard his name.

A moment's silence while they both caught their breaths, followed by a brief round of untangling. John flopped down onto his side next to Sherlock, enjoying the momentary quiet nearly as much as the afterglow. He didn't even mind that Sherlock had control of John's single pillow (_Note to self,_ John thought, _you really need to get another one._).

Sherlock wasn't exactly the cuddling sort, but he shifted so one of his long legs was draped across John's: friendly contact without going overboard. John yawned; he wouldn't mind going to sleep like this, pillow or no pillow. Naturally, as he was starting to drift, Sherlock started talking.

"You do know you shouldn't reward behavior unless you want it repeated?" he asked the ceiling conversationally. John opened his eyes a crack and saw that Sherlock was wearing an evil little smile.

"Fine," John said. "Next time I'll just stop."

Sherlock's smile turned into a grin. "Ah, but a random reinforcement schedule is the most effective positive conditioning tool of _all_." he said.

John sighed. "Only you could turn operant conditioning into pillow talk. Could you please be normal for just five minutes? Is that too much to ask?"

"If you wanted 'normal,' you wouldn't be here," Sherlock pointed out reasonably, sketching quotation marks in the air as he spoke.

There was absolutely no point in denying it, so John didn't even try. "Well, there's always sticky tape," he mumbled, closing his eyes in what he hoped was a hint.

"No there isn't. We're out."

John's eyes flew open. "But we have a whole roll!"

"Not anymore. I used it for an experiment."

"What . . .? No, wait, never mind, I don't want to know. I'll get some more tomorrow."

"We're also out of milk."

John sighed. "Good _night_, Sherlock."

"It is, isn't it? Bit cloudy, but I don't think it'll turn to rain . . ."

John could tell from the tone that Sherlock was just winding him up now. "Shut up," he said, not without affection.

Mercifully, Sherlock complied; it probably meant he was starting a random reinforcement experiment of his own, doing what John told him to sometimes to keep him off his guard, but John wasn't in the mood to look a gift horse in the mouth.

All the same, John's last conscious thought was, _Another pillow and_ two_ rolls of sticky tape._


End file.
